The Thorn in My Side
by Leahelisabeth
Summary: One-shot for Disasteriffic Kaz. It is supposed to be a simple salt and burn but Sam is feeling a lot sicker than he is willing to admit. Set in season 1, right after Nightmare.


This one is for Disasteriffic Kaz who, when I've been depressed, sick, or injured, has cheered me up with her amazing fanfiction. Here's me trying to give a little back. I hope you feel better soon.

Also, I've never had appendicitis so please forgive any inaccuracies. My only source of knowledge in this matter is the internet.

xoxox

"Sammy, are you listening to me?" Dean's frustrated voice cut through the fog and Sam focused on his brother's face.

"Yeah, I'm good. We go in, dig up the body, torch the bones, and we're out of there. Piece of cake." Sam smiled at his brother.

Dean frowned across the table. "You're sure? You haven't exactly been Mr Focus today."

"I'm just a little tired. Are we really going to let this ghost put a few more people into comas just because I didn't have a nap today? Seriously, Dean, you're my brother not my nurse maid," Sam scowled.

"It's not..." Dean trailed off and gestured generally at Sam's head.

"My freaky-ass brain? No, not since the vision where I saw you die," at Dean's pointed look, Sam continued. "I'm serious. I would tell you. Maybe I've had a bit of a headache for the past couple of days but I'm sure it's because I went from having the occasional premonition in dreams to full out visions and telekinesis in the span of a day. I probably pulled some kind of psychic muscle or something. But I don't need that shit to put old Edith Hale to rest. She's an old woman who was kept on life support for 20 years and is now mad at her family for keeping her here instead of pulling the plug. She isn't tossing people around. She's just putting people into a deep sleep. It doesn't matter if I'm a little tired because we could literally pull this one off in our sleep."

Dean scrutinized his brother. "Yeah, you're right. But you had better tell me the moment you don't feel well enough to do this."

"Obviously," Sam rolled his eyes. He pushed his half full plate away and the his napkin on top. He tossed down a couple of bills and stood. "You coming? I'm thinking we should stock up the arsenal. We're running a little low on salt rounds and, easy ghost or not, we should be prepared."

"Yeah, I'll be right there. I'm just going to say a little goodbye to our waitress. I think we might stick around for a day or two after we gank this ghost. I can pursue my favorite recreational activities and Princess Sammy can get her beauty sleep," Dean winked.

Sam glared and walked out of the diner. He climbed into the Impala and relaxed into her familiar seats. He tested his head on the cool glass of her windows and closed his eyes. Maybe he had been stretching the truth a little bit. His head ached fiercely and his stomach felt a little queasy. He fumbled around in the glove box for a Tylenol and washed it down with a warm bottle of water from the floor. He'd be fine by the time they headed out. There was plenty of time for the Tylenol to kick in and his uncertain stomach was probably because it was not benjoying the constant, greasy diner food. He patted it softly and promised it a nice, light, spinach salad, dressing on the side, at the very next opportunity.

He jumped when Dean opened the driver's side door.

"Dude, seriously?" Dean grumbled. "If you're not ok, we can do this later. Or I'll just do it myself. Like you said, we can do this one in our sleep."

"Yeah, WE can. You go in there without backup and you're just asking for trouble." At Dean's measuring look he made the most reassuring face he could muster. "Seriously, I'm fine."

xoxox

Sam was not fine. He was not fine at all. The Tylenol had done squat for his headache and the fact that Dean had stripped down to his t-shirt while Sam was thinking rather deliriously about snuggies, fluffy socks, and woolen mittens made Sam suspect he might be a tiny bit feverish. His nausea hadn't abated at all. It hadn't reached the point where he was ready to start worshipping at the porcelain throne but he had a strong suspicion the night was eventually going to end in puke.

He stood up from the table where he was packing salt rounds and stretched, his spine cracking five or six times. A dull pain near his bellybutton stopped his stretch. He frowned and pressed his large palm over the right side of his abdomen. He sucked in his breath as the pain increased. He looked over at Dean. This is probably something he should tell his brother. He shook his head and pushed down the pain. He was not going to let his brother hunt without backup just because, and he could hear Dean's mocking voice, "Princess Sammy has a tummy ache." If it was really something serious, Dean could drop him off at the ER on the way back from the cemetery.

Dean stood up and mirrored Sam's earlier stretch. "I think it's late enough to head out there. Grab your gear. Wheels up in five."

Sam packed up his newly made salt rounds, his favorite sawed off, and his fleece lined hoodie and followed Dean out to the car.

xoxox

"Alright, let's torch this bitch!" Dean cried as he pulled up to the out of town cemetery.

Sam looked up, surprised that they were already there. He'd spent most of the drive cursing Dean's need to listen to all things rock at deafening volumes. It didn't help that he was swallowing frequently in an attempt to control his rising nausea and feeling the pain in his abdomen increase with every pothole. Stiffly, he climbed out of the car and stood up all the way to not quite straight. A wave of dizziness crashed over him but he managed to hide his stagger in the dark. "Let's get this done," he said to Dean.

Fortunately, Dean was not quite as unobservant as Sam believed. He insisted that he dig the grave himself while Sam kept watch. Sam put up only a token protest. It was growing increasingly hard to remain standing and the idea of bending over to lift even a shovel full of dirt seemed like an insurmountable task.

It was a beautiful night. There was little wind and the moon was not quite full. The crickets were chirping. Sam just wished it wasn't quite so cold. The temperature seemed to be dropping fast and each degree brought wave upon wave of pain. Sam was looking forward to the whoosh as the lighter fluid caught fire because it would mean he could warm his frozen fingers. He shook his head and realized he wasn't really standing anymore. A convenient tree had moved itself under his drooping head and he clung to it for dear life. The shotgun clattered to the ground as all Sam's focus was suddenly diverted to the struggle of not crying in pain.

"SAMMY!" Sam's mind was suddenly snapped back to the here and now as Dean's urgent about broke through the fog. He looked up to see the ghost of Edith Hale, hospital gown and all, press her hand to the side of Dean's head. Sam stopped breathing as he watched Dean fall and his pain was forgotten. He leapt forward and pulled his unconscious brother from the grave and the pain in his right side crescendoed to an impossible height before it suddenly released him from it's grip.

Sam jumped down into the grave. Dean had dug down to the coffin but hadn't broken it open. He raised the shovel and brought it down with all his strength but it just bounced off, sending jarring shockwaves through his entire body. He looked around in desperation and saw Dean, his eyes closed and face relaxed, and he knew if he did not burn this corpse, Dean would never open his eyes again.

Determinedly, he raised the shovel again and drove it forcefully at the lid of the coffin with a yell. Sam's vision went white and he fell against the wall of the grave but when his eyes cleared, he saw that the wood had splintered. Later, he's not sure how he managed to enough of the body to burn it and he thinks he is intentionally blocking the memory of crawling out of that six foot hole, inch by painful inch. He was on his knees as he poured in the salt and lighter fluid. Edith stood before him, arm outstretched, begging to be spared, but he lit the match and sent her away with a scream and a flame.

He collapsesd next to his brother on the ground. Dean wasn't moving. Sam shook him. He yelled. He rubbed his sternum with his knuckles. Dean didn't even wince.

The pain was growing again. All he wanted to do was curl up beside Dean and fall into unconsciousness. Dean was always warm. He always complained when Sam tried to warm up his freezing feet on his calves when they shared a bed as children but he never pushed Sam away.

Something was coming up Sam's esophagus. It burst out his mouth and all over his jacket. Sam barely managed to turn on his side away from Dean. He's not sure how long he lay there heaving but when he came to himself again, the sky was growing lighter and Dean looked very pale.

Sam steeled himself and dragged himself up onto his knees. He considered trying for his feet but knew that if he passed out now, they would probably both die in that cemetery. He grabbed Dean around the chest and slowly began crawling backwards. The pain had given him a reprieve before but it returned with a vengeance. Sam tasted the salt of his tears before he even realized he was crying. He crawled until his feet bumped the Impala's tires. It was sheer desperation that got Dean into the passenger seat. Sam vomited from the strain as he began to round the car. His hands were almost shaking too much to turn the key in the ignition.

"Ok, baby," he whispered. "You're going to have to help keep me on the road. Be a good girl for me."

He pulled over three times to throw up on the shoulder. Between two and three, everything went black and he was only brought back to consciousness by the blaring of the horn from his forehead hitting the steering wheel.

He cried again when he saw the ER doors and an ambulance crew outside it. He dragged himself upright with the very last of his strength and shouted. "HELP! MY BROTHER..." Then his face hit pavement and everything faded.

xoxox

It felt like coming back to life. Sam rose slowly through layers of consciousness before finally opening his eyes to see Dean's haggard face hovering over him.

"D'n, ok?" He managed to ask.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, bitch. Why didn't you tell me you were feeling so shitty?"

Sam tried to think of the words but they wouldn't come. He just shrugged instead. "Z'it bad?"

"Bad? Oh no, not at all. It's just a routine day. I wake up in a comfortable bed with a hot nurse attending to my every whim and feeling like I've just had the best sleep of my life only to find out my baby brother had FREAKING APPENDICITIS and didn't tell me, that he ruptured said diseased appendix and that, because he had to drag around his unconscious brother, that infection wasn't walled off and spread through his entire abdomen, eventually going septic. Tell me, Sammy, would that fit your definition of a bad day?" Dean sounded mad but Sam knew his brother. He could see the fear peering out from behind his green eyes.

"Long?" Sam managed.

"Three days. It was pretty touch and go for a while. The infection had really spread and you'd driven yourself far past the point of exhaustion. Of all the bone-headed..." Sam flung out an uncoordinated hand to cover Dean's mouth and halt the flow of words.

"You," Sam whispered.

Dean's eyes softened and he gripped Sam's shoulder firmly. "How did I end up with a brother who is such a big girl?"

Sam's eyes were struggling to stay open. He fought against sleep and finally managed to speak. "S'cuz y'r a big jerk."

Dean pushed Sam's hair off his forehead and ran his fingers through the tangled sweaty mess. Sam practically purred. Dean chuckled.

"Get some sleep, bitch."


End file.
